


Far Drive, Totally Worth It

by trashcangimmick



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Drinking, Hate Sex, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Sneaky Feelings, Squirting, These Dipshits Deserve Each Other, Trans August, Trans Male Character, wet and messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: Rhys shows up at the Purple Skag about a year after disappearing, and, y’know, being presumed dead. August proceeds to make bad choices that feel really good.





	Far Drive, Totally Worth It

**Author's Note:**

> Basically August and Rhys are both the worst and I need them 2 smooch. Takes place after the game and whatever.

 

Life at the Purple Skag has settled into a bearable monotony.  Since all that vault key bullshit, and August’s discontinued association with Sasha, things have been pretty quiet in Hollow Point. Well. You know. Quiet for Pandora. Plenty of murder and mayhem, but people know to keep their personal issues out of the Skag if they don’t wanna get shot in the face. So yeah. It’s a Wednesday night. Nobody but the regulars sitting at their usual tables. August is leaning against the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, going over the ledger and debating whether or not he  _ really _ wants to put in an order for  another barrel of that fancy wine from Eden 6 that most of his customers can’t afford to drink, when the front door swings open.

 

August is suddenly staring down a smug, stupid face he thought he’d never see again. His first instinct is to grab the shotgun he keeps above the register, press the barrel directly against that over-gelled head, and demand to know what the fuck Rhys of all people is doing here. His second thought is a passing wonder over whether or not he’s finally gone crazy and started seeing shit that ain’t there. Before he gets to thought number three, Rhys is settling on a bar stool right across from him with a shit-eating grin on his face. He looks pretty much the same as the last time August saw him. Wearing a slightly different suit, that still makes him stick out like a sore thumb. Same hair. Same aura of unearned confidence. Same robotic arm, though it’s black and silver now instead of yellow.

 

“Huh. I thought you were dead.” Is what August ends up saying. It’s not an unreasonable comment, all things considered. 

 

“Clearly, I’m not,” Rhys winks. 

 

“I could fix that for you.” August rests his hand on the pistol strapped to his hip. 

 

“Aw, come on. I thought we were past that sort of thing.”

 

“Clearly, we’re not.” August offers a smarmy, fake smile. “I am pretty much done trusting guys in suits any farther than I can throw them. Wanna explain what you’re doing here? Last I heard, you and Fiona disappeared into thin air.”

 

“We did.” Rhys’ air of superiority is quickly dissipating. Replaced by the all too familiar nervous awkwardness. “We went to some crazy alternate dimension. It’s kinda hard to describe, since it’s literally a plane of existence our minds weren’t designed to grasp. But we made it out OK in the end.”

 

“Congratulations, I guess? You here to give me that $10,000 you owe me, or… ?”

 

“I’m a man that pays my debts, August. But I don’t owe you anything.”

 

“You killed my mother.”

 

“Technically, the Traveler killed your mother.”

 

“I prefer blaming you.”

 

“OK. Yikes. This is going about as well as I expected.” Rhys says to himself more than August. But then he turns the smile right back on. “I’m here because I’ve got an offer for you that I think would be mutually beneficial, and insanely profitable—“

 

“No.”

 

“You don’t even wanna hear what it is?” There’s an edge of exasperation creeping into Rhys’ voice. 

 

“I don’t want anything to do with you, or your friends, or whatever crazy bullshit you guys are planning. The fact that you even have the nerve to show up here is frankly amazing.”

 

“Does that mean you won’t be letting me rent a room for the night? I came a really long way.” 

 

August narrows his eyes. There are other places to stay in Hollow Point. Though against all odds, he probably is the person least likely to rob Rhys and murder him in his sleep. It’s maybe a 50% chance instead of 99.9%.

 

“One night.” August sighs. Already regretting it. There’s something about Rhys that makes him agree to dumb shit. Maybe because looking at Rhys’ face makes him so angry he can’t think straight. He wants to break it. Punch it until it’s bloody and he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. 

 

August has never been super clear on the distinction between wanting to be like someone and wanting to be on top of them, and Rhys is upsetting on a lot of levels. Tall, lanky, and just oozing that unlikely charm. His completely unjustified arrogance makes August want to strangle him, and also maybe kiss him, and he doesn’t like trying to process the conflicting signals. Rhys isn’t exactly the picture of masculinity. But it’s still aggravating that August will never be as tall as him, or have such an effortless, honeyed voice. It’s frustrating that Rhys has the big dick to back up the way he swaggers through life, and that he’s really good at convincing people to touch it. Sasha. Probably Fiona. Definitely that weird little friend of his. And well. Y’know. 

 

Fuck, Rhys is talking and August didn’t hear any of it. He picks up his glass of whiskey and downs the rest of it, hoping the burn of alcohol might clear his head. It doesn’t. 

 

“I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t paying attention to anything you just said. But the room is gonna cost $300 and I’m gonna need that up front.”

 

Rhys looks slightly miffed, but pulls a skag skin wallet out of his jacket. 

 

“Not a problem.” He takes out three crisp bills and hands them over. There look to be plenty more in his wallet. Damn, August should have asked for more. “Can I also bother you for a drink?”

 

“I mean, this is a bar. So I guess.” August digs the room key out of his pocket and drops it into Rhys’ outstretched hand. 

 

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Rhys slides another $100 bill across the bar, just flaunting his wealth at this point. He must have found some pretty interesting stuff in the Vault if he’s throwing money around like this. 

 

But August reaches for his favorite brand of Rye and grabs a clean glass. He pours out two fingers for Rhys and another two for himself. It feels like probably the second or third mistake in an impending string of bad decisions. 

 

August goes back to doing inventory. Or pretends to anyway. Rhys doesn’t say much at first, but he also doesn’t go up to the room. He probably lasts about twenty minutes before he starts up with the inane attempts at conversation. 

 

“So… you still talk to Sasha at all?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Ah. Yeah. She doesn’t take my calls either.”

 

“Shocking.”

 

“I’ve seen her a couple times since Fiona and I came back, on jobs and stuff. But I don’t think she’ll ever really forgive me for smacking her ass when… well…”

 

“When you were possessed by Handsome Jack?” August raises an eyebrow. He’d wanted answers about what the fuck happened as much as anybody. He’s a guy who knows how to get what he wants, be it through bribes, threats, or busting some kneecaps. He found a lot of interesting stories. At least half of them entirely unbelievable. But some renegade AI program living in Rhys’ ECHO eye, and then uploading to Helios tracks with everything that happened. 

 

“Oh. You heard about that.” Rhys forces a laugh. Looks exponentially more uncomfortable. 

 

“Uh huh. Really kind of reinforces the notion that I should have killed you and taken your money the second I laid eyes on you. Seems like it would have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble.”

 

“I, for one, am glad you didn’t.”

 

August pours himself another round, then after a moment’s consideration, and another $100 bill getting set on the counter, he pours for Rhys as well.

 

He’s wondered a lot about the Jack thing, actually. How in control Rhys was of his actions. When things shifted. He almost wants to believe that Rhys’ bluster and general insufferability is partly due to the influence of a deceased megalomaniac. But he’s almost positive he met Rhys before the Jack stuff happened. The guy didn’t make a stellar first impression, to say the least. 

 

“Fiona had mentioned you owned a bar before, but this place is a lot nicer than I was expecting.” Rhys sips his drink and seems to realize his poor choice of phrasing after the fact. “I mean, nicer than what she told me. I didn’t think it would be a dump or something. It’s just. Um. Cool place that you have here.”

 

“Thanks,” August snorts. 

 

“Is it just you running it?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“You’re obviously quite the shrewd businessman, keeping a place like this going in Hollow Point.”

 

August just raises his eyebrows. The bar isn’t entirely a money laundering front. It makes a slim profit on its own. But if it so happens to also serve as a good base for his arms dealing business, why shouldn’t he take advantage of the situation?

 

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to hear anything about how I could make you rich?” Rhys nudges his empty glass. August fills it with a scowl on his face.

 

“Positive.” 

 

Rhys rambles on and on. Maybe he doesn’t know how to stop. But August finds the conversation less distasteful the more he drinks. He pours quite a few rounds for both of them as the night drags on, and the bar starts to clear out. Eventually Tector sidles up, asking if anything else needs doing, and August realizes Rhys is the only one left in the place. August gives Tector an extra $20 on top of his usual share and a pat on the shoulder before dismissing him. Dumb as a brick, that kid. But he never notices enough about possibly compromising situations to become a liability. August appreciates that in an employee.

 

“Well. It’s closing time.” August sounds drunk. He can hear the drag in his voice. The slightly higher pitch. The words a little too soft at the edges. 

 

“Would you mind, uh… showing me where the room is?” Rhys bites his lower lip. Fucker. 

 

August could say,  _ what, you don’t know how to walk up some stairs and read a number? _

 

He should say,  _ I hate everything you stand for and no amount of alcohol will change that.  _

 

What he does say is, “yeah. Whatever.”

 

It’s kind of anti-climactic. 

 

He locks the front door, turns off most of the lights, and motions for Rhys to follow him up the back staircase. Nobody else is renting a room tonight. So it’s quiet as they ascend to the second floor. August feels the metal hand on his hip, feels Rhys literally breathing down his neck. It sends a lurch of heat through him, even if it also makes him want to scream. 

 

When they get to the top landing, Rhys backs him against the wall. Cages him in and looms over him. August has to crane his neck to look Rhys in the eye. 

 

“Should I take the fact that you’re not trying to shoot me as enthusiastic consent?” Rhys has the gall to laugh, breathless and full of himself. 

 

August yanks him down into an aggressive kiss. 

 

Last time Rhys tasted like dust and adrenaline. August was pinned against corrugated metal, in the alley behind Scooter’s shop. He’s still not entirely sure how it started. He was minding his own business. Rhys asked for a drag of his cigarette. August told him to go to hell. And then they were making out. Rough, sloppy, and desperate. 

 

“You know, we’re probably about to die,” Rhys had said, voice dark and halfway to sexy. 

 

“Yeah. Probably.”

 

“Maybe we should bang.”

 

Not the most eloquent line. But August isn’t really a fancy guy. He likes when things are straightforward. It was incredibly simple to let Rhys stick a hand down his pants and feel where he was already slick. It was simple to ignore the surprised gasp, the questioning look, the thirty seconds it took Rhys to get with the program and start fingering him. 

 

It was pretty hot. Rhys just lifting him up and fucking him against that wall, with everyone else milling around on the other side of it, not thirty feet away. It was risky. Dirty. Rhys came inside him after getting him off so hard that August didn’t have the brain power to be upset about it. 

 

Maybe August still thinks about it more often than he should. But Rhys was supposed to be dead. It didn’t seem so risky to relive a moment that could never happen again. 

 

Now that his shameful mistake is standing over him, nipping at his lip and grabbing his ass, it’s all a lot harder to cope with. It’s dangerous. Rhys is dangerous. Even if he’s a beautiful idiot that only succeeds because he’s surrounded by more competent people, he brings trouble wherever he goes. 

 

They break apart, both breathing heavy, reeking of alcohol. This is the last chance to swerve and avoid a total disaster. 

 

“I can’t wait to taste you,” Rhys groans, fumbling with the button of August’s jeans.

 

Well then. 

 

“We’re not doing this in the goddamn hallway.” August mutters. He grabs the room key from Rhys’ pocket and unlocks the door that’s right next to them. 

 

It’s not a big room. But it’s got a double bed with clean sheets, which is more than you could usually ask for in Hollow Point. August palms the door shut behind them. He shoves Rhys towards the bed, kicking off his boots and stripping out of his jeans as he walks. August doesn’t do underwear. So of Course, Rhys is already staring down between his legs with a hungry glint in his eye that isn’t exactly unappealing.

 

“Do you have any condoms?” Rhys stumbles, almost toppling over trying to get his shoes off.

 

“No.” August huffs out a laugh.

 

“Shit. I don’t either. I um–I honestly didn’t think you’d wanna, you know… ”

 

“You didn't seem to care last time.” 

 

“Well, yeah. But last time, I was pretty sure that one or both of us were gonna die before you getting knocked up ever became a problem.”

 

“I got a hysterectomy a while back. We’re fine.”

 

“OK. Cool. Sorry, if that’s an awkward thing for you to talk about or–”

 

“Rhys.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Shut up.”

 

August busies himself getting Rhys out of that gaudy suit. It’s kind of satisfying to take such expensive clothes and throw them into a crumpled heap on the dusty floor. Soon Rhys is completely naked, and gosh, he’s a lot less annoying this way. August wants to run his tongue over all that blue ink. Kiss, and scratch, and bite the way he didn’t get the chance to before. He pushes Rhys back onto the bed and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips.

 

“Can I take off your shirt?” Rhys is already running his hands up August’s stomach. 

 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

 

“OK.” He pauses for maybe ten seconds before more useless words spill out. “Is it because of scars? Because, I’ve got tons of those too. Like, they’re nothing to be ashamed of. I think you’re really hot either way.”

 

“I just like to keep my shirt on? No need to get on a body positivity soap box there, stretch. I know I’m cute.”

 

Rhys looks like he’s about to say something else. August makes the executive decision to kiss him into silence. For all his other faults, Rhys is a decent kisser. Doesn’t open his mouth too wide, or try to shove his tongue down August’s throat–which seems to be the go-to play for most Alpha Male corporate types. Rhys understands give and take. Teasing to make someone chase. He bites, and sucks, and pulls August’s hair just hard enough for it to be fun. Yeah. This is working. 

 

August is already so hard. He’s slick and throbbing, and probably just a few notches shy of desperate for a fuck. Not exactly like he’s been in a dry spell. There’s always plenty of people around who he could talk into bed if he felt like it. He just hasn’t lately. Too much effort for a mediocre orgasm, usually on his own fingers anyway. Why not just jack off? Hollow Point isn’t exactly brimming with casanovas who understand how to actually pleasure a partner.

 

Rhys flips them over, pinning August on his back. The guy isn’t exactly muscular. But that robotic arm is strong as shit. August can enjoy being tossed around. He likes the novelty of it. Even though he’s relatively small, most people are too afraid of him to play that rough. Rhys grins as he sits back between August’s spread legs. He leaves a trail of kisses up August’s thigh. 

 

August tangles his fingers in Rhys’ over-gelled hair. He’s not sure what feels better. Messing up that painstakingly styled coif, or finally getting Rhys’ tongue on his cock. He lets out a gruff moan regardless. It’s probably not polite to immediately start grinding against Rhys’ face. August doesn’t really give a fuck. Rhys doesn’t seem to mind it, the way he’s groaning, and lapping at August’s cock like a seasoned whore. 

 

“Mmm, yeah,” August breaths. “This is by far the best possible use of your mouth. I might never let you talk again.”

 

Rhys manages to slip a finger in. August is so slick, there’s almost no resistance. He’s already feeling a little too hot all over, from the mix of alcohol, and adrenaline, and dirty lust. His skin is oversensitized. Nerves buzzing. He can feel the tension starting to gather already. Part of him wants to drag this out. Mostly he wants to get off. 

 

So he does. Without warning. He shudders, and his hips jerk, and he definitely squirts a little bit. Directly onto Rhys’ stupid, pretty face. Whatever. It’s Rhys’ fault for fingering him.

 

Sometimes, if he’s really turned on, August can just ride one wave into the next. So he keeps a firm hold on Rhy’s hair, and makes sure his mouth stays exactly where it is.  Rhys lets up on the pressure a little bit, but keeps dragging his tongue across August’s cock. He even slides another finger in alongside the first and starts to actually move them. Gently stroking against that spot that makes it feel like August is standing on a super tall cliff, looking over the edge. About to fucking jump. 

 

Rhys groans and the vibration sends August spiraling. His thighs are shaking. The orgasm rolls through him in slow motion. He stops breathing. Every muscle tensing and relaxing. He squeezes down around Rhys’ fingers, and lets out a few high-pitched noises that he’d definitely be embarrassed about under different circumstances. 

 

There’s a sizeable wet spot on the comforter underneath him. August is more proud of it than anything. He’s panting. Still quivering with the aftershocks. He lets Rhys come up for air. And yeah. That looks real good. Rhys covered in his come, chin and cheeks shiny with slick. 

 

August wants to kiss him. He also wants to get on Rhys’ dick. Like hell he’s gonna be on the bottom.

 

So he sits up. Pushes at Rhy’s shoulders, ushers him back until he’s sitting against the headboard. Then he crawls into Rhys’ lap. Their lips smear together. Rhys tastes like salt, and musk, with finishing notes of whiskey. He tastes like August and it feels right. 

 

August holds the base of Rhys’ cock steady, letting the tip of it tease against him. Slipping in just a little. Letting Rhys feel how hot, and slick, and perfect he is. But not sinking down. 

 

_ “Please,” _ Rhys clutches at him. Squeezing his ass, but not pushing him down. Rhys seems to understand who’s in control here. This is only happening because August wants it to. He could get up right now and walk away satisfied. Rhys wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it. 

 

Though the thought of leaving Rhys with a dire case of blue balls is pretty appealing, August wants to fuck him. 

 

So August lets Rhys slide into him with one smooth motion. It’s still a stretch, despite the fact he’s already come twice. Rhys is thick. He pushes right up against that line of  _ pleasantly full _ , verging on  _ too much to handle.  _ But August doesn’t back down from a challenge. He starts to roll his hips, slow at first. Relishing every sweet drag of friction. 

 

“Fuck,” Rhys gasps. “You’re so tight–you feel so fucking good–ugh.”

 

“If you come right now, I’ll punch you. We just started.”

 

Rhys kisses him. Pouring all that desperation into the slide of lips and tongues. August takes it. Runs with it. Pours gasoline on the fire. He’s starting to relax enough to really move. He grabs onto Rhys’ shoulders for leverage and starts to bounce on his dick. Rhys rests his flesh hand on August’s hip. Rubs his thumb across the head of August’s cock. It’s delicious. August moans into Rhys’ mouth, all pretense of dignity long gone. 

 

The sticky slap of skin echoes through the room. August’s thighs burn from the exertion. He feels stretched open, wrung out, fucked halfway senseless like he hasn’t been in ages. In some dim corner of his mind, he thinks that he could get used to this. It’s not everyday you ride a dick this nice. The fact that it’s attached to a pretty body is just a bonus. 

 

“Are you close?” Rhys sounds strained. Like he’s quickly losing the battle to last. 

 

Maybe it’s all the endorphins going to his head, but August is feeling charitable. He presses closer against Rhys, who thankfully takes that as a signal to rub his cock just a little faster. August lets go. Just gets lost in the feeling. He’s in freefall. 

 

Then he hits the ground. Spasming around Rhys’ cock. Gushing. Shaking. Can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t see. The world is nothing but a rush of high-octane pleasure. He feels Rhys’ grip on his hips tighten. He’s on his back again, Rhys rabbiting into him, fast and rough. It can’t be more than thirty second before Rhys grunts, and buries himself as deep in August as he can get. 

 

They lay there for a while. Slowly coming down. Sweat cooling on skin. August is starting to feel kind of gross, like he should shower and crawl back to his own bed. Being covered in come is only fun while you’re getting off. Afterwards it’s just a mess.

 

Rhys gets soft enough to slide out of him. August squirms. Rhys takes the hint and rolls over onto his side. Neither of them seems quite ready to stand up. 

 

“So did you actually just drive all the way down here to fuck me?” August can’t help but smile a little. “I’d say I’m flattered, but we both know that was well worth the trip.”

 

“I didn’t–I actually had a business proposition–”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” August waves his hand. “What the fuck does a high roller like you need me for?”

 

“I need an official Hollow Point salesman for the New Atlas product line.”

 

“What now?” August lifts his head a little.

 

“I haven’t just been sitting around and jerking off for the past year. I’ve been getting an old Atlas factory back in working condition. We’re set to launch soon. New guns. New shields. New grenade mods. All top quality instruments of death.” Rhys trails his hand down August’s chest. “I’ll cut you in at a 10% commision to start out with. Then bump you up a little once you get some steady customers.”

 

“Aaaand the afterglow is ruined. You’re gonna have to go down on me again. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

 

Rhys laughs. But he shifts on the bed, once again settling between August’s legs.  

 

“OK, fine. I’ll start you at 15% and I’ll come by once a month to fuck your brains out.”

 

“Any chance you could swing twice a month?”

 

Rhys responds by flicking his tongue out and tracing it around August’s cock. 

 

“You make a compelling argument,” August gasps. “I’ll think about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the [Front Bottoms](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFlEJpEIbx0) song. There are less than 20 fics in this tag and I'm so fucking thirsty. Once again I gotta write the trash I wanna see in the world. There's like 4k of a sequel already. Whoops.


End file.
